


Of Air and Fire

by DracoMaleficium



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoMaleficium/pseuds/DracoMaleficium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragons are creatures of air and fire and for a moment, so, too, are they. Seven stories, seven stages of falling - and being - in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One: Dragons

**Author's Note:**

> All of the existing entries for this story were written for **Zukaang Week 2012** based on the prompts, hence its chaotic, disconnected nature. I'm posting them here in chronological rather than prompt order so as to avoid confusion.

_"Dragons are air and fire."_ \- George R. R. Martin, _Game of Thrones_

 _"So they [dragons] devour one another, or take their own lives, plunging into the sea - a loathy death for the fire serpent, the beast of wind and fire."_ \- Ursula K. Le Guin, _The Farthest Shore_

~~~~~~

 

So this is what a perfect moment feels like.

Zuko, in all of his nearly seventeen years of life, didn’t get to know many of those. If pressured, he can think of a few chosen images – Mai’s lips on his own and the grace of her white body moving in his arms, the smell of tea lingering in the air in the Upper Ring of Ba Sing Se, a few hazy recollections of warm hands holding him and a soft voice telling him bedtime stories of heroes, dragons and princes. They bring him comfort in the dark; they remind him that there can be something more, something good, even for him; they bring the soothing promise of a fearful, half-hatched hope, of light – but they also bring bitterness, or regret, or guilt, or a whole piercing blizzard of fury at the world and at himself, so they are not, _cannot_ be perfect, because perfection cannot be tainted. Besides, if he did regard them as perfect before, he doesn’t now, because now, he truly knows.

The flames soar up in a dazzling whirl of blinding beauty all around him, a harmony he didn’t even imagine could exist, and they are warm, and loving, and he lets them embrace him and drown him in color. This is it. This is perfection. A moment which cannot be tainted by anything, a glimpse of peace he believed until then was unattainable, his heart at ease, his mind in awe, and not a thought that would spoil this. He cannot imagine anything tarnishing this harmony now, this purity, this thing of utter beauty spilling from the dragons’ mouths.

Not even the fact that he is sharing this moment with someone else.

He can feel Aang’s back against his own. He can feel his presence, solid and real, can hear the Avatar’s breath, as stilled and hitched as his own, and somehow this, too, is perfection – the moment made whole. Suddenly, Zuko knows that it has always meant to be this way: he and Aang, here, on this bridge between two mountains as though on the threshold of a new journey, enlightened by a pair of dragons, caught in the middle of wisdom embodied in color. It is as if their entire lives, the twisted, winding branches of their destinies, have led to this, this one blazing moment of fiery illumination.

“I understand,” he whispers into the flames, barely even conscious of having spoken anything. And for once, the words are true – he really does. Everything is so clear, so obvious. Not only the true meaning of Firebending – and how could anyone change that, how could anyone ever distort such a perfect, harmonious thing? Soon, his heart will rebel and rage against this sacrilege, against his own ancestors who have committed it and stole from their people a source of true, untainted power – but not now. Now, his heart can only marvel in wonderment, too flooded with awe of light to have room left for shadows. But through that, he understands something else as well: himself, and his decisions. Now more than ever he knows he has done the right thing.

Aang. He is here with Aang. And he understands that, too, like the fact that he cannot ever stand here with anyone else in the entire world. Through all the twists and turns on their way, through rage and suffering, through hostility and shaky alliances, through frustrating uncertainty and, finally, a newly hatched, fragile trust, they have arrived here, to be enveloped together in a ribbon of clarity. To be joint. The prince of Fire, the monk of Air, of cultures so different, so alien and conflicting, so incomprehensible to one another that one could bring the other to extermination; the child of aggressors and the child of victims; one flighty and looking inward, the other forward, always burning for strength. Impossible to bring together… and yet here they stood, back to back, breathing the same air, watching the same display of light, blessed with this very same insight. Children of two conflicting elements.

Conflicting, yes. But which have both given birth to dragons.

Because dragons are creatures not only of fire, now he can see that – they are also of air. Master Firebenders who soar through the skies, flying giants spitting flames. They are the true embodiment of unity, of a conciliation between that which seemingly cannot be reconciled – and the fact that they survived, and that he can be standing here with Aang receiving their blessing, gives Zuko more hope than anything else in his life.

Peace is possible. The wrongs of this world can still be set right. If dragons can still pierce the skies, if the Avatar can forgive him and share a perfect moment with him… They can do this.

And in this moment of perfection, of utter understanding, he feels the warm fingers of the Avatar brush his own and close his hand in a firm grasp. He squeezes back without even thinking about it and this only makes the perfection complete.

When Aang kisses him days afterward in the darkness of an Ember Island night, the stars glittering above their hands and the chilly sand under their fingers, it is really nothing more but another, inevitable step on their way, an extension of the moment caught in the dragons’ breath – and this, too, is perfection.

Dragons are creatures of air and fire blended into one. And for a few precious, stolen, perfect moments so, too, are they.


	2. Day Five: Yin and Yang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in Ember Island before Sozin's Comet. The kiss described here is NOT the one mentioned in the first chapter.

“You know something, Zuko?”

The Fire Prince, who had been engaged in one of the basic Firebending kata in the middle of the empty courtyard, did not break the sequence of kicks or even glance at the monk as he murmured a quiet:

“What?”

Aang stole a glance at him sideways and smiled, only half-heartedly trying to follow his movements and letting a hot jet of flames pour out from his foot into the chilly grey of an Ember Island dawn.

“We sort of complement each other, don’t you think?”

“Mmmm,” replied the Firebender distractedly before launching into a series of lightning-quick series of leaps and kicks which Aang attempted to copy; it was clear the Avatar’s claim had not been properly processed.

That was all right. Aang was not a person who was easily discouraged.

“Like a harmony,” he plowed on regardless of his unappreciative audience, “the two of us. If you know what I mean.”

The prince grunted an impatient “Right”, his eyes set in concentration; only after his fist sprouted a fireball into the sky did he pause to actually pay attention. “Wait. What?”

He stood staring at Aang, his arms held stiffly by his sides, his bare chest gleaming in the awakening sunlight, his face sporting a slight, almost habitual frown. So now he was paying attention. Aang grinned at him.

“We sort of go together,” he explained, still grinning. “We fit.”

“How do we in any way fit?” Zuko’s tone was incredulous as he shook his head and threw himself into a new set of exercises, a routine he called _Greeting the Sun_. “We’re as different as can be!”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Aang happily, as though Zuko were a puppy which had just performed a difficult trick.

Somewhere halfway into the _Greeting the Sun_ sequence, when no further word of clarification followed, Zuko sighed irritably and confessed in a rather disgruntled tone:

“I still don’t get it.”

“Remember the Spirit Oasis?” asked Aang in response, stretching backwards to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. “In the North Pole?”

There was a definite halt in the conversation then, a heavy pause as Zuko pondered this. His face visibly darkened. “You mean the place that I kidnapped you at,” he stated flatly, his voice noticeably low.

If Aang sensed this sudden drop in the mood, he did not acknowledge it in any way; he only chuckled, rather carelessly, as if the memory was nothing more than a funny anecdote. “Yeah, that one,” he admitted. “Anyway, did you see the koi fish there?”

The sigh Zuko let out was half-drowned in the blazing whoosh of dancing flames, but still audible. “I had other things on my mind,” he muttered.

“They were the Moon and the Ocean spirits,” explained the Avatar cheerfully, completely oblivious to his sifu’s sudden brooding spell. “But I’m sure your uncle told you the story, right? Anyway. I wanted to go into the Spirit World to ask for guidance, but I couldn’t get into proper meditative mode until I looked at them and – well, _saw_.”

“Saw what?” Zuko was clearly feeling more than a little skeptical of his pupil’s thought process. “And pay attention.”

“The harmony,” answered Aand with disarming simplicity. “The… wholeness. The unity of everything. The spirits were different, very different – like, totally opposite. And then they swam in a certain way and I suddenly realized that, yeah, they were opposite, but they needed each other. That in being opposite, they were whole. One couldn’t exist without the other. Like, we wouldn’t know day if there wasn’t any night, right?”

Zuko seemed to give this some thought – for a while, the courtyard was silent but for the roar of fire cutting through air.

“I still don’t see what that has to do with us,” said the older boy eventually, but though his voice was strong enough, it shook slightly, as though on the verge of breaking; almost like he had to force it to be strong.

Aang grinned at him. “I think you do,” he teased gently, his expression growing warm, affectionate. “Think of the dragon fire. Firebending harmony. Remember how that felt. And then think of the two of us. About what we’ve been through. What we’re like.”

“Where are you going with this?” A tiny note of panic crept into Zuko’s voice as he ceased in his kata and looked at Aang, arms crossed defensively, his unmarred cheek slightly flushed, his expression tense and guarded.

Aang looked back at him. His gaze lingered, growing softer, warmer, more tender. His smile gradually morphed into an intimately fond one as he studied his friend, with his alarm, his defensiveness, the comprehension clear and yet vehemently denied in those golden eyes.

Obviously it was too soon. He rushed too much. But… he did see what he wanted to see.

“Nothing, Sifu Hotman,” he said softly as the moment stretched; he took a few steps closer to Zuko. “You’ll understand,” he whispered when they were nearly chest to chest and he could see his reflection in the prince’s healthy eye.

And then he kissed him on the lips, very lightly and very chastely, no more than a peck if not for the lingering promise in its tenderness, somehow even more intimate than a full-blown, open-mouthed kiss would have been.

Then, Aang laughed, seemingly dispelling whatever charm he had cast on the both of them. “C’mon, let’s get some breakfast,” he called and was gone, leaving a flurry of dust in the air and the aftertaste of his lips on Zuko’s, and a word, one word floating in his wake, soft as a whispered promise, which preyed on the prince’s mind for nights to come:

_Harmony._


	3. Day Six: The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on Ember Island. Very little Zukaang interaction in this one, sorry, but I thought Katara deserved this chapter.

There he was.

Katara’s eyes narrowed as they spotted the lone figure of Zuko, a white flash in the midst of swirling waves, popping in and out of vision as he braved the Ember Island sea. Energetic, vigorous, he battled the water alone – Aang was at the back of the house with Toph brushing up on his boulder-throwing techniques, while Suki and Sokka wandered off for what they called “foraging for berries,” quotation marks intended.

Good. This meant that it would be just the two of them. Exactly what Katara had been waiting for.

She strode down the narrow, rocky path to the beach, her sandals in hand, and stood just beyond the ebbing water’s reach. The salty wind hit her immediately and tangled in her hair, filling her lungs generously with the sweet, fresh smell of her own element at its most free – this would have soothed her nerves under any other circumstances, but today, it was only another scathing reminder of what she had witnessed just the night before.

The memory was enough to make her stomach churn – and _not_ in the pleasant way.

She waited for Zuko to be done with his post-training swim, and as she waited, she seethed.

Really, it was just _typical_ , her thoughts screamed at her as Katara tried hard not to stomp her foot impatiently on the sand. Trust Zuko to spoil everything all over again, and now that she had finally forgiven him, too! When she had accepted him as a part of her family! Just as she had begun to really adjust to his presence and _like_ him, he had to go and do something like… THAT.

Tui and La, she couldn’t even name it, not even in her own thoughts. It was simply too… bizarre. And not even the act itself – though to Katara, who had just begun her worldly travels and had yet to discover certain facts of life, the act in itself was pretty surprising too – but rather _whom_ she saw engaged in it. Never in her life had she expected that out of all the crimes she would accuse Zuko of, it would be…

… She sighed and firmly shut her eyes to chase the image away from her mind…

… it would be kissing Aang.

Truth be told, those were only a fraction of the thoughts storming through the Waterbender’s head when she waited on the beach. A part of her whispered hesitantly, even then, that she was being unfair and really, it wasn’t any of her business. Other, traitorous voices hissed at her that she was the one to make the act happen, that through her inaction and refusal to confront Aang she had pushed him into another person’s arms. That she shouldn’t jump to conclusions if she didn’t know the entire picture. But all those thoughts were tangled in a whirling mass of confusion, anger and half-realized sense of betrayal the young girl could not quite grasp and it was with this conflict boiling inside of her that she awaited a confrontation.

He must have seen her. The sound of him splashing closer and closer to shore sliced like a thunder into Katara’s mind. When she opened her eyes, Zuko was wading through knee-deep waters toward her, smiling; seawater dripped down his well-toned muscles, emphasizing his stunning figure which the girl refused to look at. She will not be distracted.

“Hey,” he called out, shaking the water out of his hair. “Do you need something?”

“I need to talk to you,” she said curtly, gazing down at the waves reaching out for her toes. “Do you have a moment?”

“Sure.” He sounded surprised, flopping down onto the sand beside her. She joined him, drawing her knees to her chest defensively, feeling Zuko’s curious eyes on her. Something of her inner tension must have shown either in her voice or in her general demeanor, for when Zuko spoke next, his tone was guarded.

“So what’s up?”

Katara took a deep breath to steady herself. Ok, here it goes. She had been agonizing over it for a whole night and half a day, coming to a thousand different suspicions and battling conflicting emotions, and now was the time to confront it at the source. To demand the truth and then deal with whatever she was going to hear.

So she dove headfirst into the whirlpool, not bothering with a preamble:

“I saw you.” And before puzzlement clearly painted on Zuko’s face could give birth to questions, she added: “You and Aang.”

At least he didn’t insult her with pretended, outraged denials, she had to give him that. He only uttered a quiet “…Oh” after about a century of silence, then lapsed into a dark, broody pensiveness which the two of them shared with the sea.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Zuko after a few minutes of that silence, which the words enforced rather than dispelled.

“Sorry for kissing him?” Katara forced herself to ask in a tight, clipped tone which even to her sounded very faraway.

“No.” This time the response was swift and forceful; Katara to look at him, startled. “Sorry you had to find out this way.”

She had nothing to say to that. Nothing to challenge this certainty, this conviction. This was not what she expected, not something she had prepared herself for. She could only stare at him, study the taut lines of his jaw, the set, determined expression in his eyes, and think: _He really means it_.

Oh, how she wanted to blame and accuse him, to rage and to threaten. But she couldn’t. Deep down, she knew she couldn’t. If nothing else, it wouldn’t be fair, because no matter how much it hurt, Zuko was not the only one involved – Aang was, too.

Out of his own, free will. And this was perhaps what hurt her the most.

“So it’s serious, then?” she managed to ask and immediately hated her voice for braking, for betraying her – just as Aang had. ( _But no, he hadn’t, he never would, she mustn’t think this way._ )

“Yes,” answered Zuko softly, tilting his head to look at her. “It is. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”

“And now what?” Again, her voice lashed out at him like a water-whip, harder than she wanted it to.

“I don’t know. I’ve no idea what happens next, Katara, nor how long it’ll last. But I do know that this is what Aang wants… And I do, too.”

“What about Mai?” She hurt him by bringing up his gloomy ex-girlfriend and his infidelity, she could see that, but she didn’t care – some dark, spiteful part of her wanted to see him hurt.

“I love her,” said Zuko with so much simplicity it astounded her. “And I love Aang, too. In different ways, I love them both. I told you, I don’t know what happens next. But I think…” his voice dropped even lower as his gaze directed at her gained more painful intensity, “that you really meant to ask, What about you?”

She looked away. His eyes on her were just too much. She didn’t want this truth reflected back at her.

“Look, I can imagine how you must feel –“

“Oh, can you?!”

“ – Aang told me about you,” finished Zuko mercilessly. “How he felt about you, how he kissed you, how you wouldn’t acknowledge it. He still loves you, Katara, and he always will. But things have changed. He’s wiser now. More mature. He understands himself better. And he needs to be loved. It’s as essential to his nature as air. You must know that.”

Oh, this really was too much.

“Are you saying this is _my_ fault?!” Her voice was close to shouting this time. She wanted to scream, to run away. She didn’t want to be here anymore.

“No! It’s nobody’s fault, Katara! You helped him on his way of growing up. That’s all.”

 _By growing up you mean being with you_ , she thought with a sudden blaze of anger, but she bit her lip and didn’t say anything.

“You must know that hurting Aang is the last thing I could possibly want,” confessed Zuko after his previous words had been sucked into a vacuum of stormy silence. His voice was quiet, oddly gentle, but confident. He pressed on. “I can’t explain what we have, but it… it just feels right. Like when I finally decided to join you, like when we were standing surrounded by a pair of dragons. You weren’t there, you didn’t feel what we felt, but it was…” He trailed off, momentarily lost for words, his face frowning as he thought. “It was perfect. I know how that sounds, but it was. Aang would probably explain it way better than I can, but it was as if it was meant to be like that… Like the two dragons were me and Aang. And now… it feels like that too. Like it’s right.”

 _He will fight for this,_ Katara suddenly realized as she listened to Zuko’s words and saw the determination that was his most defining feature float to the surface and set his eyes ablaze. _He doesn’t want to fight me, but he will if he has to. He is ready to fight for Aang._

And this, more than anything else, deprived her of all of her remaining ammunition.

 _Right. Meant to be like that. Perfect._ It was impossible, ridiculous. And yet – the conviction, this talk of destiny (because that’s what it was underneath the clumsy words), this fierceness. And the fact which she, up to this point, tried very hard to ignore: that when she saw them on the beach last night, it was Aang who kissed Zuko, not the other way round.

She should have spoken to Aang first. He would have explained it better, most probably. But she couldn’t – she was angry and hurt and betrayed and she needed someone to aim this rage at, and it couldn’t be Aang. Zuko was so easy to blame and Aang… Aang _kissed her_.

Talking to him about kissing someone else after she had snubbed him because of her own fears and insecurities (her fault, her fault, _of course_ it was her fault!) would be nigh impossible.

And there was also another thing – she wasn’t sure how she felt about Aang and this entire situation, even now. Confused – ha! Now she was more confused than ever.

“Why you?” She spoke out anyway, needing to release at least some of the turmoil. “That’s what I still don’t understand. Why did it have to be you? After everything you’ve done, after everything you’ve put him through…”

This sounded so petty, so petulant. She didn’t care. Zuko could judge her all he wanted.

He didn’t. He looked at her instead, long and fierce, and the corners of his lips quirked in a strange, humorless smile. “You know, I’m not sure I get it myself,” he confessed. “Why me? We’re so different. We have conflicting opinions on so many things. Our cultures are so alien to each other, it shouldn’t ever work. I know I don’t deserve him. But Aang… He is a trusty kid. He likes forgiveness. And while we don’t agree on many things, this one included, he was the first to drop his defenses and put all of that behind us. You and I are more alike in that matter, actually. There are some people we will never forgive.” At this point she had to look away again. “The thing is,” Zuko continued, “we got to a point when he mentions the North Pole and he _laughs_ , Katara. I don’t think I could ever laugh at all of the things I’ve done, but he does. And it’s amazing. He forgave me even before I could forgive myself. It helps me to heal. It’s all in the past now, for him. And because of that, I feel as if I’m getting ready to let it be in the past, too.”

 _In the past_ , he said. Katara hugged her knees even tighter and looked out to sea, her thoughts now no longer angry, but strangely sad. _Is that what I am to Aang now, too? The past?_

This thought hurt her deeper than she expected – and it was that which made her realize all the things she had taken for granted up until today. Aang and his affection. His unwarranted attention. His love. Now that she no longer had it all to herself, she suddenly knew how much she relied on it – how much she still wanted to have it.

But perhaps it really was gone now, scattered behind her. Aang was growing more distant from her, this much was undeniable. Growing up, is that what Zuko called it? Well. If that was the case...

But when she saw the two of them kissing again ( _they love each other, of course they do, how can anyone deny it, it’s so obvious, so clear!_ ), Katara realized that it wasn’t really that they left the past behind them – rather, they let it mould them and make the bond between them deeper, that much more cemented. Maybe she should do the same. She was growing up, too. Maybe it was time for her to mould her own dreams and make them fit.

Aang had grown out of her, in a way. His puppy love may be in the past now. But the future… The future was still unchartered. For all of them.


	4. Day Seven: Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place about three years after Sozin's Comet - the boys are in an established relationship, but Aang is still underage. 
> 
> Here there be lemons.

He wasn’t sure what woke him, but the transition from dream to wakefulness was very slow and gradual, like a boat being brought to shore in fine weather. In fact, as Zuko found himself growing more and more aware, he was vaguely surprised that the ownerless hands he remembered caressing him very gently in the dark of his dream did not disappear the moment he felt his eyes open. The dreamy touch was still on him, travelling lovingly up and down his heaving chest, leaving the softest of trails in his messy hair, not ghostly and excitingly anonymous as the hands in his sleep had been, but solid, substantial, warm.

Familiar.

Zuko smiled into the pillow, a sleepy, contented smile, when he felt one of the hands journey away from his hair and to his face, leaving a warm, slightly tingly sensation in its wake.

[“Aang?” he murmured drowsily, his eyes glued closed again as he let the familiar fingers of the other man caress his cheek.](http://kiraokamoto.com/art/doodles/sunshine-finalsmall.jpg)* “Why’re you awake?”

“Sorry,” the whisper in the dark was soft and light, a pleasant hot puff of air very close to his ear. “Wasn’t sleepy. I didn’t want to wake you, Sunshine.”

“’S okay.” Zuko wiggled a little closer, feeling his body, already aroused from the dream, respond lazily to Aang’s affections. He opened his arms almost on instinct, the left side of his face still buried in the softness of his pillow, his eyes still closed, and Aang scooted right into his embrace as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

And it was, for them. Had been for almost three years now. When Zuko sometimes allowed himself to stop and think about this, it never ceased to amaze him.

But it shouldn’t, really. After all, this was how they were meant to be from the start and this much was clear to both of them. It was just that, especially in times like these, he couldn’t believe that the Spirits would actually grant him such an inconceivable gift; that they would want to make him so unbelievably happy by sending such an amazing creature as Aang into his unworthy arms.

He breathed in. The night, deep and heavy around them, flew in from the open window and permeated the Fire Lord’s bedroom with a feeble smell of tropical humidity, which only enhanced Aang’s own smell and the odor of the two of them under the silk bed sheets. It was sweet. It tasted of freedom – even if only illusory.

It was still hours before dawn… Yes. They still had plenty of time.

Zuko held the other man a little more tightly to his chest, moving to rest his forehead on the bald skin of the Avatar’s head. Aang’s hands travelled smoothly to his back and then down, going lower and lower in a tantalizing, playful journey which whispered of pleasure. They swam lovingly to his chest, to his abdomen. They tickled him teasingly in all the right places, though their progress was slow, somewhat drowsy. Perhaps even lulling – or would have been, had Zuko not been growing harder at the touch. For now, his erection was pleasantly lazy and non-insistent, but if Aang kept this up, something would have to be done about it eventually.

It was okay. They did have the rest of the night.

“You know something, Zuko?”asked Aang into the darkness; his whisper left a moist shadow of warmth on the young Fire Lord’s chest.

“Mmmm?”

“I noticed something funny,” the Airbender freed himself slightly from Zuko’s embrace and propped himself on the pillows to look down at his lover. “You always sleep on your left side.”

“Do I?” asked Zuko drowsily, opening his eyes to try and pierce the darkness in his search for Aang’s face. A pair of big, gray eyes gleamed down on him. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, you do. Like right now. Whenever you are with me, you always go to bed having me on your right, and then, after we make love, you always maneuver us so that you sleep on your left side. I mean, it’s okay to prefer to sleep on just one side of the bed, I guess, but I can’t help but wonder…” The ghostly warm touch of Aang’s fingers disappeared from his stomach and landed butterfly-light on Zuko’s face, just by the edge of the pillow which hid the left side of the Firebender’s face from view. “… Is it because of that?”

And suddenly, Zuko was not feeling sleepy anymore. He blinked the remains of stickiness from his eyes and moved to lie on his back, gazing up at the shadowy outline of Aang, feeling strangely cold – just like he always did whenever anyone brought up his scar.

“Is that what kept you awake?” he asked, trying not to let his voice shake with the arising wave of irrational anger which, up until recently, had been his main, almost automatic defense. He didn’t want it directed at Aang if he could possibly help it, so he did his best to swallow it before it erupted, but he could still feel it creeping under his skin and piercing it with cold needles.

Aang never asked about it. Never. Why would he…

“No,” a pair of lips landed on his forehead, warm and soothing, sending a wave of tender peace to combat the coldness. “But I wonder if you still feel insecure about it. Because you shouldn’t.”

Zuko fought the urge to turn away, to turn his back on the Avatar and on this conversation, but spirits, was it difficult. “I don’t want to talk about this, Aang. Not now,” he forced out. “Please.”

“Ah. So you _do_ feel insecure.”

“I don’t! Stop that.”

“Zuko,” Aang’s whisper was a breath away, his lips still hovering just above the Firebender’s forehead. “Hush. I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay. We won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Only then did Zuko realize he had been holding his breath. He released it, and together with it, a load of heaviness left his chest where it had been gripping it in hot-and-cold clutches. The ice-cold panic started to float back to where it had been sleeping before this. Aang caressed his face – the right, healthy side – brushing hair away from it, murmuring comforting nonsense and pecking the other man, moving closer and closer to his lips. Seconds later they were kissing and only under the warm, tender touch of the Avatar’s mouth on his did Zuko begin to relax again, his muscles unclenching.

It’s okay, he told himself, soaking up the pleasure of being kissed by Aang. It’s all right. The conversation was dropped. Aang would never press for it, knowing how uncomfortable it made him…

The kiss lingered. Very soon, it deepened and became more urgent, more open-mouthed as tongues got involved. Passion was once again rearing its head. Zuko snaked an arm around Aang’s neck to bring him closer and used the other to pull the Airbender’s body flush against his own, his body demanding the contact with steadily growing urgency bordering on impatience. As their erections brushed against each other, Aang bit his neck teasingly and it seemed that the unfortunate conversation from a moment ago was entirely forgotten, dissolved into the air with their heavier breaths.

It turned out, however, that Aang was not quite done with his inquest yet.

“You never did tell me how you got it, you know,” he whispered, his voice breathy as they moved against each other in a tantalizing rhythm.

Zuko froze right then and there and looked straight into Aang’s eyes, his own going wide with incredulity.

“Aang!” he groaned. “For fuck’s sake! Could you please just stop and –“

He rubbed himself against the Avatar’s member to get the message, and its urgency, across. The other man giggled and retaliated, drawing his move out to elicit a deeper, more guttural groan out of his lover, then leaned down to nib on Zuko’s ear.

“Always so impatient,” he whispered lovingly.

Zuko seized the opportunity and whipped his head around to capture Aang’s lips with his own, at the same time putting a decisive end to the conversation; or so he thought. As their humping got more frantic and passionate, as their hands started flying all over each other’s bodies in greedy, gleeful exploration, as their breaths mingled into one and as the Avatar’s hand finally closed firmly around the place Zuko most needed it to be, Aang rallied his forces and charged once again.

“The thing is,” he whispered wetly into Zuko’s neck, his hand going up and down in a sweet, intoxicating rhythm, “I only know what happened because of the rumors and Mai and your uncle. You never told any of us. I don’t think that’s right. It means you’re still suffering because of it.”

 _Fuck. FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK_. Had he never heard of letting things go? _Why did he have to bring this up _at all__? Zuko felt his fists clench – one on the sheets, the other on Aang’s back. The tension was back, hitting him with its full force and gripping every muscle in his body in a tight, iron grip. He wanted to scream at Aang, to lash out at him in a fit of fury, to swear and just order him to stop –

“Spirits, Aang,” he whispered instead through a wall of clenched teeth, his voice raw and tight. Aang’s hand never stopped pumping his cock – rather, it did so now with redoubled gusto, which miraculously enough did not distract Zuko from the coldness this time. “Stop! Please stop.”

“I take it you don’t mean _this_ ,” the younger man’s hand gripped him more tightly for emphasis and Zuko could practically feel him smirking against his neck. “But why don’t you want to talk about it, Sunshine? It might be good to –“

“I don’t want to!” The shout felt satisfying, even as a faint note of ecstasy crept into it. He couldn’t help it, Aang’s grip was just too much. The bile of ice-cold ire flooding him did not let itself be besieged by pleasure for long; if it hadn’t been for Aang’s continuous attention, he would have gone soft again.

He had never been this angry, this desperate with Aang before. Not even when he was chasing him – because back then, it had never been personal.

“I know it’s painful,” whispered Aang, the traces of playfulness all but gone from his voice as he kissed the sensitive spot on his lover’s neck and nuzzled it. “You’re hurting. I’m sorry. I just think you should be able to talk about it now. You’ve resolved the issues you’ve had with your father. It’s been years. I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything, Zuko.”

“Aang…”

Agni. How could he even begin? How did anyone begin talking about…

He wasn’t ready.

“I won’t hurt you, baby,” his lover whispered into his lips. “That’s the last thing I want. You know that. I love you so much, Zuko.”

The Fire Lord could only nod, his throat constricted, his thoughts a tangled mass of shadows and helplessness and fear that the memories brought. He will NOT give in to them. He will not. He was no longer a confused, hurt, raging child. He was an adult, a sovereign responsible for a whole nation, a man. The thirteen-year-old boy cowering before his father in the Agni Kai arena was a foggy memory now, nothing more, and the hand getting closer and closer to his face until it became a universe of fire obscuring the rest of the world was but a nightmare, an ancient terror pushed as far back as it would go.

He wanted to tell Aang that. He wanted to reassure him that yes, he knew, and yes, he was ready to talk about it. He opened his mouth…

There was a barrier in his throat. A shadow, just like the one which blocked his view with a wall of fire all those years ago. A wall as thick as the walls of Ba Sing Se; the words wouldn’t be let through, just as the armies of his uncle were not let into the impenetrable city. He couldn’t do it.

“Let me fuck you,” he whispered instead; the pleading in his voice surprised even him. He sounded desperate even to himself.

Aang lifted himself on his elbows again and looked at him, long, hard and penetrating, the hand on the Fire Lord’s cock stopping entirely. Zuko tried to hold his gaze, but it was a challenge, one that he had to struggle to meet.

When the Avatar spoke next, after the tense, stretching minutes of silent scrutiny, it was with a smile.

“No, Sunshine,” he whispered tenderly, a tiny hint of deviousness in his voice. “If my memory serves me right, now it’s my turn.”

Zuko could have laughed, then, if he hadn’t been so winded. Aang was right. It _was_ his turn now, after the older man took him earlier this same night. So it was with the two of them.

A harmony. Air and fire in one, like a dragon made of two bodies. Push and pull. Two lives complementing each other. And the point of balance, a perfect equilibrium caught somewhere in between their greedy bodies.

So he let himself be lost in the warmth of Aang’s kiss, returning it with exactly as much passion as he was given and with double need, pushing the memories back into the dark pit they had been torn from and shutting them there, trying desperately to lose himself in the dance of their bodies.

But Aang wouldn’t let him. Even as he was preparing Zuko, his fingers digging sweetly deeper and deeper, he kissed his way down the other man’s torso to stop at the heart, where the lightning-scar from Azula blossomed in the dark like a black flower. He kissed it, marked the rough, leathery flesh with his hot lips, traced every jagged edge and curve with a fierce tenderness – as though it were Zuko’s lips that he was kissing.

“I love you for this,” he murmured into the scar, his eyes closed, his fingers, more of them now, going even deeper. “I mean, I love you for many, many things, but this… It reminds me of my love the most. This scar. I love it. Because every time I look at it, I remember the hero who took the lightning to his heart to save one of the people dearest to me. It reminds me of the amazing person you are and how much I owe you. It makes me realize, time and time again, how lucky I am to have you – for a friend and for a lover.”

And Zuko still couldn’t speak – he could only watch, and feel, as the fingers disappeared and were replaced by something much more substantial and desirable. Aang hovered over him, his arms on either side of Zuko’s face, his eyes intent, focused, bright with a blaze of emotion.

When the Firebender finally felt the entrance, his lover leaned down and kissed the scar on his face.

 _No_. An impulse stirred through the haze, a flash of fear, the need to turn away, to escape – but a hand landed on the other side of his face, keeping him firmly in place. The lips were still there on the burnt flesh, caressing it, moving all over it, though Zuko could hardly feel it.

“And I love this, too,” murmured Aang, moving inside of him and whispering wetly into the burnt ear, his voice husky, breathless. “Because it shows everyone what you’ve suffered and what you’ve survived. It didn’t kill you, it didn’t destroy you. You bounced right back to confront the man who did this to you and proved to him, to the world, what a great man you truly are. In the end, you were blessed by the dragons, not your father. Zuko Dragoneye, they call you now. And you should wear this name with pride.”

The words were almost breezes of wind now, punctuated by breathless pauses as their rhythm grew quicker and more insistent. It was only when he stopped speaking that Aang moved his lips away from the scar, kissing Zuko’s closed, burnt eye one final time, and then he started pushing in earnest; in fury; each violent thrust filling the Firebender’s mind with light.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Aang through the glaze of desire and love, which had replaced the irrational flash of panic somewhere in the middle of the Avatar’s speech. His hands came up to land on his lover’s back and found the rough, tortured patch of lightning-burnt skin. He traced it half-consciously, moving his own hips to meet his lover’s, looking straight into Aang’s eyes. Did he love this just as Aang loved his scars? Could he ever, knowing what it was and how he helped leave it? No. Every time he looked at it, he was reminded of the one mistake that hurt everyone so badly. Every glance brought fresh guilt, covered though it was now with the coating of years. It reminded him how close the world was to losing Aang – how close he himself was to disaster. It wasn’t a testimony to Aang’s endurance and strength, but to Katara’s healing skills, the magic of the Spirit Water and, most of all, to Zuko’s own evil. He could never love what put his soulmate through so much pain, what was his fault.

But Aang loved his scars. He said so. He kissed them. He had forgiven him.

Zuko’s scattered thoughts flew back, to the beach on Ember Island before the comet all those years ago, to the uneasy conversation he shared with Katara. He remembered his own words to her: that Aang’s forgiveness helped him to heal, to begin to forgive himself. That was true. This amazing, amazing person filling him now, sharing his pleasure, sharing his love, forgave him for everything that he had been, that he still, sometimes, was. Even despite the angry rose of the scar on his back, which to Zuko was a tangible symbol of everything he had done wrong, Aang had forgiven him and admitted him into his life. Into himself.

Spirits, he loved Aang so much. So very much.

“Let it go, baby,” whispered Aang into his mouth, hips dancing wildly, breaths mingled into one, sweat glistening in the dark, pleasure filling Zuko’s body with roaring fire. “Let it go.”

And Zuko did let it go, soundlessly, his mouth open, his breath caught, his eyes open wide, his entire being torn up with pleasure, convulsing with love.

“I’ll tell you,” whispered the Fire Lord in the dark sometime after they both collapsed, breathless and sweaty, onto one another. Aang’s head resting on his chest did not stir, but the hand holding his own squeezed. Zuko swallowed. “Just… not tonight. I’m not ready. But when I am… I will tell you.”

“Okay,” was the quiet reply, warm, soft, understanding. Zuko put his arms around the younger man – still a boy, actually, and wasn’t that a strange thought – to bring him closer, to cradle him to his chest like a shield against the rest of the world, and inhaled, closing his eyes.

When in the morning Aang kissed his scar again before getting up, Zuko did not try to turn away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * this beautiful illustration was made by [hikuni](http://hikuni.livejournal.com).


	5. Day Three: Gold and Scarlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I want this to be realistic? Well, this is where that part really kicks in.

If there was anything about his relationship with Zuko Aang didn’t like, it was [the mornings.](http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/080/5/b/zukaang_week___gold_and_scarlet_by_goldii-d4tgtt3.jpg)

Or maybe not even that. The mornings themselves could be really glorious – especially when neither of them had to get up early and they could stay under the covers for a snuggle and a lovely morning shag or two – yes, those were some of the moments he enjoyed best. Rather, it was when they finally did have to get up and Zuko got dressed that was sort of the problem.

The getting dressed itself – yes, that’s what it was. They had even developed a pattern for it that Aang could easily predict. Zuko was always the first to leave the snuggly sanctuary of their bed sheets, for starters, and it was always he who kept insisting that Aang do the same. And then he would go about picking up various articles of clothing, his white body moving in the early light of dawn, and Aang would watch his face gradually change, like pages turned in a story scroll: from sated, playful and tender to distant, preoccupied, business-like, _worried_. That was usually the first sign that their time was truly drawing to a close and that the day was, indeed, upon them. And then Zuko would slowly put on those various articles of clothing – at least those that he could work with himself without the aid of his servants – one after the other, and Aang would still just lie there and watch as this glorious, amazing body disappeared inch by inch under layers of layers of gold and scarlet.

Just as the Zuko he knew and loved disappeared under the gold and scarlet layers of Fire Lord Zuko, whom he also loved, but who was not, nor could ever be, his and his alone.

“Can’t you stay a little longer, baby?” Aang would ask sometimes. The results varied. If Zuko was less than halfway done with his Fire Lord get-up, he would perhaps coyly consider and sometimes even let himself be dragged back into bed after a copious amount of coaxing, teasing or some degree of physical violence, with the few following minutes being sweet and rushed and tasting of forbidden fruit. The chances of this happening grew slimmer in direct proportion to the amount of Fire Lord layers the young sovereign had already put on, diminishing to zero if the only item still to be fixed into place was the golden Flame of his office.

Then, he would only look at Aang with that heartbreaking combination of sadness, regret and conviction, and whisper: “You know I can’t.” And there would be nothing else to be done but sigh and get out of bed.

Because Zuko believed in Duty, so apparently if you were Zuko, Duty was more important than staying in bed with your lover. In time, Aang grew to understand that. He respected it. In fact, that was one of the things he loved about the other man, because if Duty had not come first, then Zuko would not have been – well, Zuko. This was a part of him, something which contributed to making him such a unique, incredible person. A person who took his duties seriously, who did not shirk from responsibilities and who toiled day after day to prove himself worthy of the crown he always bowed under slightly as it rested in his hair. 

This was admirable. Really, it was – even if to Aang, who usually treated Duty as a concept to regard with some degree of seriousness, but without being overeager – more like a guideline, really, and not something he should jump to right away if he didn’t feel like it and wasn’t pressured by a particularly demanding situation – it took some getting used to.

The thing was… Well. The thing was sort of complicated. The kind of “complicated” Aang wasn’t comfortable with putting down in words, because if he did, then he would also have to put down in words a whole lot of other things and this would only make the entire situation more… scary, more depressingly weighed down by reality, and this above all the two of them strove to avoid.

For now. 

They were happy and that’s what everything boiled down to, wasn’t it? What mattered most? Yes. That’s what he kept repeating to himself on the rare occasions when those thoughts happened to plague him. They were happy. Sure, they didn’t see each other nearly as often as they would like, but when they did meet, it was delightful. Most of the time. Those times when they didn’t fall into shouty arguments about politics, that is – but those were also kind of good in a way, because they meant making up. Even if Zuko was too tired after the day’s responsibilities to do anything but lie in bed and snuggle until he fell asleep, that was also okay with Aang, who loved cuddling with Zuko, soaking up his delicious, Firebender warmth and listening to the other man’s breathing. And when the Fire Lord did have the energy to play, well – um. WELL. Those were the times Aang loved best.

So yeah, their encounters were rather more scarce than they wished. That wasn’t a problem as long as they kept a couple of weeks each year reserved for what Zuko jokingly called an Aang-scapade – a holiday for just the two of them, in different places, but always somewhere remote, far away from people and their problems, so they could enjoy each other’s company, recharge their energy for the rest of the year and just be. There would be no gold and scarlet robes on those outings, no crowns of flame and no getting out of bed to serve anyone but themselves.

And they loved each other, there was no doubt about that. They were young and successful and in love and had the rest of their lives ahead of them…

… Which was sort of another problem, and this is how we come around to the mornings all over again. Because this other problem, the one Aang would really rather not think about until he absolutely, inevitably had to, lay inherent in their sad morning routine. It was called, the capital letters intended: “The Future.”

It was in the mornings, especially the ones after a particularly heated session of passionate lovemaking, that Aang was most often reminded of its existence. Though neither of them had ever addressed it explicitly, the Avatar knew that, in a way, they both acknowledged the same thing: that the way they were living now, soaking each other up every chance they got and playing house as often as they managed, was, in fact, stalling; hanging onto the threshold and refusing to cross it; being suspended in mid-air just before the plunge; delaying the inevitable. And the inevitable, no matter how much Aang wanted to avoid it, stirred and rose its intimidating head to leer at Aang more and more boldly whenever he watched Zuko get dressed.

Zuko was his. At night or during the stolen moments during their holidays, he was his and no one else’s. But the person who emerged from the surface of gold and scarlet, who wore the ancient crown of the Flame and sat so regal and majestic on the Fire Throne, was not his and that was that. Fire Lord Zuko belonged to his people, to his country.

And he also needed heirs.

That was another thing that went unspoken between them so far but which they both knew. And Mai, who never left Zuko’s side and acted as the official girlfriend so as to keep the rest of the courtiers and eligible ladies at bay even though she was perfectly aware of the situation between the Fire Lord and the Avatar, hovered in Aang’s mind as a silent, shadowy reminder that this day would have to come eventually. He liked Mai, he really did – her specific sense of humor had really grown on him and the role she played for Zuko endeared her to him infinitely – but sometimes he couldn’t help but think how much the two of them still loved each other, and that there would surely come a day in which they would have to be married, and in which…

But this, in a way, was fair, for Mai loved Zuko just as much as he did and she deserved this much. They were hurting her, in a way. Sure, she might joke about it, call Aang the royal consort and demand that they let her watch every now and then…

But she never did come to watch, in the end. Nor would she. This was okay. They could share. Zuko had love enough for both of them, each one in a different shade.

But still…

It wasn’t that Aang hated the gold and scarlet robes of the Fire Lord. Not really. They were beautiful, very elegant and they suited Zuko, especially now that he had them tailored and adjusted to his own figure and style of living, the robes of a warrior sovereign rather than a priest of his people hiding behind a pillar of flame. Aang admired the man who wore them as much as he loved him – and Zuko looked really handsome in them, so powerful, so majestically beautiful and glowing. So strong.

And yet the Avatar could not help but love the moments in the dark when the robes of gold and scarlet were shed to reveal the Zuko beneath, because really, his lover looked so much better – his best, in fact – with nothing clothing him but the dancing shadows and the air of the night, and the sheen of sweat on white skin.

That was when he tried his hardest not to think of the morning and the time at which this white skin, which belonged to him now, would be hidden and made untouchable again under the Fire Lord layers. He didn’t want to think about The Future. They had time for that yet. They had time.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this amazing illustration was done by [Goldii.](http://goldii.deviantart.com)


	6. Day Four: Tattoos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is just a silly breather between the more serious parts. The boys are out on one of the Aang-scapades.

The cold brush tickled pale skin. Zuko squirmed.

“Hold still!” hissed Aang, hovering above him. Black ink dripped from the brush he was brandishing in his right hand and landed on Zuko’s back, sending tiny ripples of cold down his body.

“That tickles,” complained the Fire Lord from his position face-down on the blanket spread out on the grass by the silent lake, head resting on his arm, the unmarred side turned upwards. “And it’s cold.”

“Stop being such a grump and let me do my job, Sunshine.”

Zuko groaned, but did hold still, albeit against his better judgment, while the Avatar made himself more comfortable on his backside and once again set to painting a serpentine dragon on his lover’s back. While the stroke of his hand seemed steady enough, the fact that he was humming something, apparently a melody that was not even a real song but rather a cheerful improvisation, was more than a little unnerving.

Feeling one stroke of ink on his skin after another, the Fire Lord wondered, for the hundredth time that night, how on earth could he have ever agreed with Aang that this was a good idea. The two emptied bottles of baijou resting by the fire close to their tent gave some indication, but still. He was usually more sensible than that…

Except that he wasn’t, really. Not this time of the year. Because the fact was, they always ended up doing something stupid on their holidays together. It was simply one of the laws of the universe. He could be regal, high and mighty and dignified all he wanted when he was sitting on the Fire Throne in the capital with the golden Flame in his hair, but as soon as Aang came calling with that Lovable Miscreant grin of his, it was a sure sign that all of that dignity would be thrown out the window pretty soon.

At least drunkenly painting a dragon on his body was not the stupidest thing they had ever done together. Not even close, actually. Provided nothing else happened for the rest of their short holiday, he could come back to the Palace risking only a slight eye-rolling from Mai instead of the full-blown frown he was treated to the last time he returned from an Aang-scapade. Mai tolerated their outings as long as his royal person did not come to any real harm, so she should be pleased that he managed not to get his butt nearly frozen off this time around.

“I still think that’s a bad idea,” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the naked skin of his arm.

“Of course it’s a good idea,” announced Aang somewhere above and behind him; despite a slightly slurred quality to his voice, his hand remained steady and decisive with every stroke as it tickled Zuko’s back time and time again with the coldness of the brush and the smear of black ink. “A dragon suits you. It’s strong and fierce and powerful and beautiful, just like you. They even call you Zuko Dragoneye, don’t they? You could be Dragonlord, or something!”

He was obviously keen on the idea; his voice sounded as enthusiastic as it did whenever Aang found something shiny or came up with a new, crowd-pleasing bending trick. Zuko snorted, not sure whether he should be amused or irritated.

“Somehow I doubt they call me Dragoneye because of my fierceness,” he mumbled.

“Ah, but that’s a part of it for sure! And stop squirming like that, Sunshine, or I’ll have to tie you up.”

That brought a smile out of Zuko. He wasn’t totally averse to the idea and, judging from their previous experiences, he could risk a fairly confident guess that neither was Aang. The suggestion made his thoughts stray in an appealing direction; suddenly, the strokes of the brush elicited an entirely different kind of shiver.

Mmmm, yes. This could get interesting. He squirmed a little harder on purpose, smirking into his arm, but Aang smacked him promptly on his backside. 

“Oh no you don’t,” laughed the Airbender in the cheerful, exaggerated laugh of one who had had too much to drink. “Nothing of the sort, Sunshine. I have to finish this first. It’s looking really good. We’ll get to play later.”

But his lips did land on the nape of Zuko’s neck tenderly as he said this, which stopped the groan already growing in the Fire Lord’s throat from escaping. “Promise?” murmured Zuko, closing his eyes and shivering a little when the warmth of Aang’s lips was once again replaced by the cool, nightly air.

“Promise,” the Avatar whispered into his healthy ear, lovingly brushing some of his hair away and pecking him on the cheek. “Now be a good boy.”

This time Zuko did groan, but even he had to admit that the sound turned out more playful and not nearly as exasperated as he had intended. Maybe it was the baijou.

Resigned to his lot, he tried to relax, the fresh smell of dewy ground very close to his skin, the blades of grass teasing his exposed body even despite the blanket they had spread for him to lie on, the warmth and music of a crackling fire close to his left. Aang’s hand resumed its steady strokes and the Airbender went back to humming drunken nonsense as he worked, but his left hand started straying here and there on Zuko’s body, caressing him in a way which could only be described as sensual. Coupled with this, the tender touch of brush and ink turned more teasing, definitely a coy, unhurried prelude to one of their love games now in spite of Aang’s earlier words to the contrary. It was clear as day he was enjoying this – and, despite the utter idiocy of the situation, so was Zuko.

“You should make it permanent when we get back,” whispered Aang after a while, breaking the pleasant silence they had fallen into; Zuko, who had been gradually slipping into a contented dose, lulled by the quiet of their isolated surroundings and by his lover’s touch, only murmured in response.

“It looks really good,” continued the Airbender in the same whisper, never stopping in his work. “A dragon… Yes. That’s good. It’s you. A tattoo is a mark of honor, Zuko. A sign of a master. You should get a real dragon tattoo.”

“How did you get yours?” asked Zuko sleepily, his words no louder than the crackle of the fireplace. “Did it hurt?”

Aang seemed to ponder this for a while before he responded. “Well,” he started quietly, “I don’t really know. I was unconscious during the actual process. It did hurt quite a lot afterwards, though. When the flesh was healing. Oh yeah, I remember that all right. But it didn’t matter, you know? Because of what it meant.”

“Mmm,” agreed Zuko, eyes drifting close. “And how come they get all glowy when you’re in the Avatar State? I’ve always wondered about that. They’re nothing special, right? Just paint. Or did the monks use, I don’t know, special Avatar paint or something?”

This clearly took Aang unawares; the young Avatar was silent for a few seconds. “I don’t think there is such a thing as special Avatar paint,” he mused. “That’s a good question, actually. I haven’t the foggiest idea. They just do. And it looks cool.”

“Yeah,” the Firebender could agree with that quite readily. “It really does look cool.”

The strokes of the brush stopped then and Aang’s weight shifted on his body; Zuko blinked and lifted his head a fraction.

“There,” announced the Avatar with a mixture of pride and tenderness in his voice. “It’s done. Now it has to dry.”

“When can I see it?” asked the young Fire Lord after his half-hearted attempt at standing up had been unceremoniously thwarted by the other man still straddling him.

“Tomorrow, in the water. When it dries. And now stay like this for me, love. It’s time we play.”

Zuko didn’t have the time to marvel at how close Aang’s voice sounded to his ear, because no sooner had the last word blended into the night that the Airbender started kissing him – finally! – down the nape of his neck, then all over his back, the light, burning-warm lips greedily outlining a shape Zuko could only guess at, and suddenly, the conversation was brought onto a whole new level entirely.

Maybe it was a good idea after all, Zuko thought hazily under the sensory assault of Aang’s hands and lips, feeling the fire within him coil and roar in response. His thoughts, before they were entirely scattered by pleasure, flew to the one perfect moment of dragon fire, of the unity of fire and air embodied by the dragons.

Well. No one could say he was not one with air, especially now. Maybe it really was appropriate…

And then he thought nothing else, because feeling was all he had left.


	7. Day Two: Impossible Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first piece I thought of and it basically set the tone of the entire series. It encompasses all the things I wanted to convey the best, I think, and addresses the most important obstacle in the boys' lives: the fact that both of them need children.
> 
> Believe it or not, I actually wrote Zuko's daughter before everyone even learned he DID have a daughter. I guess my instincts are better than Sokka's. 
> 
> If this makes you feel down, I apologise.

“She has your eyes.”

Zuko smiled, gazing down on the baby dozing off in the safe cradle of his strong arms with a tenderness that, only a year ago, would have been highly uncharacteristic, but which was now almost a normal expression for the Fire Lord whenever his eyes spied the tiny Princess Ziyi.

Aang swallowed, fighting back the bile that kept growing and growing in his chest and travelling up to his throat all through the evening, and tried not to feel as though his heart was bleeding. He knew it was too early, knew that he shouldn’t have come. Meeting Mai was bad enough, but this…

He wasn’t ready. After over a year of coming up with countless excuses and avoiding this visit like the plague, he still wasn’t ready. Yes, he missed Zuko terribly and being away from him for even half this long proved to be almost unendurable torture, but the fear of what he might see was even greater. He didn’t want to see the princess with his own eyes. He didn’t want to be confronted with this truth. And that was because if he didn’t, he could at least pretend that she wasn’t there; that nothing had changed; that this horrible shadow had not finally fallen over the two of them; that it wasn’t real. But as a whole year since Ziyi’s birth had gone by without a single visit from the Avatar, Aang could put it off no longer without risking a grievous insult to the royal family. Katara had made it clear. He had to get his act together and see this through, because the longer his stalling, the worse the situation was going to get.

She was right, of course. And he still wasn’t ready.

He watched, his throat strangely blocked, as Zuko, his beloved Zuko, held his baby girl close to his chest and placed a feather-light kiss on the soft stubble of her black, growing hair. A baby girl who wasn’t Aang’s. Who could never be Aang’s. Who had been begotten with someone else, who was the fruit of Zuko sharing his love and his body with someone else, who was and forever will be a reminder of the gap they were both forced to acknowledge much too soon and which, now, could never be bridged. Aang looked at this baby now, his heart silently bleeding on the inside, and wondered whether there would ever come a time in which he would grow to love the girl and see her as her own person, not the visible proof that something had violated what, to him, was sacrosanct.

He wanted to be in the Princess’s place right now: to replace her in Zuko’s arms with his own body, to feel the solid, achingly familiar heat of Zuko’s chest against his own, to hide his face in it, and cry.

“They’re gold, just like yours,” he said instead, subconsciously amazed at the fact that his voice shook only a little. “Like the sun,” he added softly, at which Zuko’s magnificent eyes flew to meet his for a moment before they rested on Ziyi again, gleaming. Aang pushed on, trying to keep his heart from breaking: “Firebender’s eyes. She’s a bender for sure.”

“Yes,” the Fire Lord smiled again, this same, tender expression warming up his features and softening them. He looked positively beatific, all aglow in the warm, liquid sunset spilling in from the window and sprinkling the nursery with its molten gold. “She is blessed by Agni. I would’ve loved her anyway, though. This just makes the question of succession easier.”

“You’re naming her heir?”

“I already have. The ceremony was held on the day of her name. I distinctly recall sending you an invitation.”

Zuko turned his back on Aang, ostensibly to gently place his baby Princess in her crib, careful not to wake her; but the steely note creeping into his voice at his last words gave this gesture an altogether different meaning. The bile that had been insistently growing in Aang’s throat suddenly clogged it completely, threatening to spill out, and he swallowed it forcefully just in time, abnormally thankful for Zuko’s back to him; this meant his lover couldn’t see his face.

The words _I’m sorry_ swam up to his mouth and stuck there, unuttered. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize. Not yet, not here, not with the little Ziyi sleeping and influencing the entire room, even the air around them, with her presence. He owed this much to Zuko, he knew, but he just couldn’t. He could only hope that Zuko understood. 

“You didn’t name her Ursa,” he forced himself to say after a pause as heated and charged as Azula’s lightning had been, striving painfully for his voice to sound light and nonchalant.

“No,” whispered Zuko, who remained bent sideways over the crib, his mouth still hovering close to the softness of his daughter’s head. His whisper was warm, intimate. Aang could almost imagine his hot breath warming up the child’s vulnerable body and wanted, desperately wanted to feel this same breath on his own skin. “I wanted to initially, Mai expected it of me, but the thing is, I only want one Ursa in my life and that is my mother. I don’t want to associate the name with any other woman, no matter how dear to me. We both agreed that naming our daughter after a legendary warrior princess was a good trade-off.”

The Fire Lord straightened back up and wandered slowly around the crib to face Aang, the baby resting between them, his finger never leaving the sleeping girl’s cheek. The Avatar watched him, fighting the sudden, mad urge to simply jump over the crib and push Zuko to the floor.

“I’m sure she’ll live up to the name.” Speaking normally was becoming harder and harder as their gazes met again. “Between the two of you as her parents, she’ll be jumping rooftops and throwing knives around the place in no time. This little one’s destined for greatness and no question.”

Zuko was looking straight at him now, his eyes sharp and piercing, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward in the barest of smirks.

“Thanks,” he replied quietly, not taking his eyes off him. “It doesn’t matter though. I’ll be proud of her even if she wants to take up gardening as a hobby.” The determination growing in his voice was poignant; Aang could read everything it implied as clearly as though it were imprinted on his love’s forehead. To that, his heart had no choice but to respond.

“You’ll be an amazing father,” he whispered, taking a step closer and making an enormous effort to smile. It had never been this hard. “You already are.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood facing each other, the Avatar and the Fire Lord, the sleeping Princess creating an unnamed No Man’s Land between them as the moment lasted and stretched with the sunbeams growing on the floor. The magnificent gold of the dying sun seeped in, permeated their skins, sunk into the floor, dusted the furniture with its glow. It rested on Zuko like a halo, embracing his entire, regal figure in its warm, subdued light, bringing out the glow already within him.

This is the Fire Lord, Aang thought. This is the man chosen by Agni himself. He saw it clearly at Zuko’s coronation all those years ago, had felt it time and time again afterwards, and sensed it all again now, confronted with this blessed image. Agni’s light shone on Zuko and ennobled him like the duty he chose to serve, and it shone on the fruit of this duty just as brightly, as if to remind Aang that it had to be this way. That this was right.

No matter how much it hurt.

Zuko was the first to look away and break the spell they had both fallen under.

“Walk with me,” he asked, his voice no louder than a breath of hot air. Aang could only nod.

It was not until they drifted to the turtleduck pond that the young Fire Lord spoke again; he loomed over Aang, who bent down to pet the animals that swarmed to the shore begging for crumbs, when his quiet voice floated up into the chilling evening air.

“It was _our_ decision, Aang.”

The last Airbender shut his eyes, his hand frozen on the fluffy head of a turtleduck. “I know,” he whispered.

“We both agreed it was for the best. You and I.”

“You don’t have to remind me.”

“Well, apparently I do!” The shout came without a warning and whipped the air between them hard and fast like the flash of a rod. Aang looked up, startled, as the small herd of turtleducks swam away in panic. Zuko was staring down at him, a hard line disfiguring his forehead in a sudden burst of anger, turning his expression into an infinitely less regal one, one that Aang was much more familiar with. “It was our decision, so you have no right to blame me! You knew this would happen from the start! That this couldn’t last, no matter how much we wanted it to. We both knew! And yet the moment I finally have to step in and perform my duty, you turn your tail and fly away, just like you always do!”

That stung, it really did. Aang could literally feel his eyes go wider and wider. He had been expecting a telling-off, perhaps even a tantrum, but as almost an entire day went by without one, he was slowly resigning himself to the idea that they would part just as they had greeted each other; cordially, ceremonially, impersonally. This sudden proof of passion, this testament to the fact that Zuko still, after all, remained himself, was as scary in its abruptness as it was relieving.

Aang jumped to his feet. 

“I know I let you down,” he started quickly, forced into a step backwards by the ferocity of his lover’s pained glare. “I’m really, really sorry, Zuko. I should’ve been there. But you have to understand –“

“What, how _hard_ it was for you? And you think it was easy for _me_? For _Mai_?” Zuko advanced after him, not quite shouting now, but snarling, his raspy voice sounding so very familiar. “You have no fucking idea! Do you honestly think I liked using her like that? Do you think she enjoys being put in such a position? Do you think it was _fun_?!” The words poured bright and hot out of him as though they were fire itself, as though he was spitting them out right from his lungs. Aang felt their heat, felt them scald him.

“No!” he managed to cut in, raising his hands up in an appeasing gesture. “Of course not! But you know how much I love you and just to think… It was all too much, too soon…”

“Too soon!” this time it was not a snarl – it was a roar, sharp and hot like a Firebending jab. “I’m twenty-five, Aang! That’s not too soon, that was nearly ‘not soon enough’! You know my court. You’ve sat at some of those meetings. You bloody well know how important it is for me to establish my rule and ensure continuity. We’ve been hanging on the brink of I don’t even know how many civil wars and now there’s actually some hope that the peace will really last! The least you could have done was actually show up and pretend to support me!”

“I do support you!” Aang shouted back, a touch of the desperation he was feeling seeping into his voice. “I love you, Zuko!”

But the Fire Lord turned his back on him in one violent sweep of his robes, fists ablaze.

“You have no idea what I went through when you wouldn’t come,” he accused, voice quieter now, broken. “Agni, I missed you so much. I love Mai, she’d do anything for me and it was all for the best, but days, weeks would go by and you wouldn’t even write, you wouldn’t show up, and it just felt like you were accusing me, like I did something wrong…”

“It wasn’t like that,” whispered Aang, taking a step towards Zuko. “I never blamed you for this. It’s just… It’s just what I do, you know that. You said it yourself. I run away from the things that hurt me. And this… this hurts so much.”

“I’m so happy to have Ziyi,” Zuko’s voice, softer now but still thick with emotion, floated into the silence which fell heavily between them after Aang’s last words. “I love her so much. And her mother. I’m glad to have a family. But it’s no good if you cannot, or choose not to, be a part of it. I still need you, Aang.”

And the Avatar looked at him, listened to his words, and thought, with a still heavier load falling on his heart: _Spirits, I’m such an idiot._

There was only one thing to be said here, and so he said it, the shadows and lights in the garden blurring in his eyes for the tears he wouldn’t blink away:

“I’m sorry, Zuko.”

The Fire Lord said nothing.

The blazing fire of sunset subsided, melted into the advancing darkness of the purple twilight. The shadows grew, stretched, claimed the world. And just as they sucked in the bright, vivid colors around them, so, it seemed, they had also sucked emotion; where there had been a storm of blazing hurt, anger, remorse, now there was weariness, a softer kind of despair, one that comes when all the tears have been shed and there was nothing more but sleepiness and the hope for dawn.

Aang sat down on the grass, which was now chillier and slightly wet, and soon, Zuko joined him, silent and downcast, refusing to meet his lover’s eyes. And so they sat, the two of them, sharing a silence which even then was transforming, settling down just like the ruffled feathers of a bird settles down when its enemy withdraws.

This moment was familiar. This situation, this silence between them, right after a fight. It was almost as if they were back in the before, Zuko sulking, Aang frantically wondering how to make it better, and the inevitable conclusion, the tangle of sheets, hanging like a promise in the air.

But it wasn’t the same. This time, there was a baby, Zuko’s baby, sleeping upstairs, and they couldn’t laugh it off anymore. Zuko must have been thinking the same thing, for the next thing he said was:

“You know you’ll have to do the same thing soon, right?”

Aang lowered his head onto his knees; suddenly it felt very, very heavy.

“Yeah,” he mumbled to the turtleducks. “But I don’t have to rush. There’s still time to be young, for me.”

“For you,” echoed Zuko hollowly, his gaze travelling up to the darkening sky where the first glimmer of stars could already be spotted. “You lucky bastard.”

And this, paradoxically, coaxed a smile out of Aang; he scooted closer to Zuko and, hesitantly, like one would approach a wild animal, leaned his weight against the Fire Lord’s.

The other man said nothing, but leaned into the touch, ever so slightly. Aang’s heart leapt.

“You can’t put it off forever, Aang,” murmured the older man. “You need kids. The world needs for you to have kids.”

“Please don’t,” sighed the Airbender, growing bolder at this silent admission and burying his head into the warmth of Zuko’s robes. He breathed in. Spirits, it was good to feel his scent again… “Please let’s not talk about it now. I want…”

But what he wanted was so vast, so profound, that he couldn’t find the words for it anymore; so instead he clung even tighter to Zuko and embraced him, almost climbing into his lap, seeking the familiar warmth of his skin, seeking his smell, his solidity, seeking him. He couldn’t bury his face in the crook of Zuko’s neck because of the high collar his lover wore, so he rested his cheek against just below the ear, where Zuko’s hair met the skin, closing his eyes and letting out a deep, deep sigh.

After a few seconds, Zuko held him, close, closer, closer still.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice thick and raw. “Okay.”

And then the silent walk to Zuko’s bedroom, gloomy and vague as in a dream, and the press of lips in the dark, and the frantic need of bodies, and the tangle of sheets, and the long-missed warmth, and the bliss, exploding like white light. The sated contentment, fulfillment, unity.

Love.

“I missed you so much,” Aang whispered into the skin of Zuko’s sweat-damp shoulder when his blood stopped rushing, and then he kissed it, this beloved shoulder, this beloved skin, and kissed his way along the collarbone to the other man’s neck, where he rested, sighing in bliss.

Zuko stroked him, breathing, saying nothing, his warm, warm fingers tracing patterns on Aang’s heated skin until he fell asleep.

But Aang didn’t sleep that night; he lay in Zuko’s lax arms, pressing their naked bodies as close to each other as he could, inhaling his lover’s smell, absorbing his warmth and his presence; and when the night outside began to pale with the promise of dawn, he slipped out of bed silently, dressed and crept out the window.

The Princess was fast asleep when he stole into her room on tip-toe, flying noiselessly through the open window; her tiny chest rose and fell under the covers, her small, chubby face peaceful and beautiful. Aang looked down on her, watched her sleep. Such a tiny, tiny thing, he thought, taken over by an odd wave of tenderness, such a fragile little creature.

Zuko’s daughter.

“Hey there, little girl,” he whispered, smiling; and suddenly, smiling at the girl was not difficult anymore. “I’m your uncle Aang. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, I can promise you that.”

He crouched beside the crib and gently, gingerly, reached out to touch the baby’s soft cheek. Princess Ziyi didn’t react.

Standing up, Aang looked at her again, still smiling, and made a sign of an Air Nomad blessing over her forehead.

It still hurt when he thought about it. It would for a long time, perhaps even forever. But that wasn’t important. He knew, just as Zuko knew, that the odds of them staying together, careless and perfectly happy, were impossible. It was foolish to even expect such a thing. They had their time together, they had their moments of bliss, free of worldly concerns, and now it was time to pay the price.

But maybe this was good, too, in a way. Maybe they could still be happy like that, him and Zuko, with Ziyi, and Mai, and Katara. After all, there were many different shades of happiness.

And when Aang crept back into Zuko’s bedroom and into bed, when he rested once more against Zuko’s warm, beloved body, he thought sleepily, the sky behind him turning purple with the approaching dawn:

_Maybe this is growing up._


End file.
